Never Again
by SpookyMormonHellDream
Summary: Modern One-Shot, E/C. My entry to the second-annual Phantom Christmas One-Shot Contest and winner of the "Best Erik" category! Summary: A year out from their first "I love you," a surprising revelation will prove to be a test of their devotion - and ultimately, a testament to it. Sequel to and same 'verse as "To the Stars" and "Moon Dance," can be read as an individual entity.


**Author's Note:** _Merry belated Christmas everyone! So this is a little piece that I wasn't necessarily expecting to write due to time constraints, but oddly enough I had a dream about a really cool idea (cool at the time, mind you. It was actually really crappy and I had to tweak the hell out of it lmao) and I wanted to roll with it here. Also, for some reason the song "I Just Called to Say I Love You" by Stevie Wonder inspired this (also featured in aforementioned dream), even though it doesn't show up here whatsoever, nor are there really any themes based on the song at all. XD But hey, credit where credit's due, amirite? ;D Anywhoodles, before I ramble on too much, I'm proud to note that this is **my official entry to the 2nd Annual Phantom Christmas One-Shot Contest** , and I'm very happy to contribute again! And to everyone else that's submitted, you're stories are absolutely lovely! :D Finally, this story follows "To the Stars" and "Moon Dance," as once again there was some interest expressed last year in seeing what happens to E/C in this 'verse, so this was a lot of fun to explore and write toward! Be sure to review and let me know how it turned out! Welp, I believe that's all - Happy Holidays, and enjoy!_

Never Again

Christmas, 2017 - New York City

Christine Daae

The steady sound of traffic and shouts and overall city life held something of a hypnotic quality, somehow haunting and engaging even in its familiarity. I reflected upon that distant notion as I stood on the small balcony of my apartment, waiting for the sun to set and absentmindedly admiring the Christmas lights below that were just starting to shine against the surrounding twilight. I hoped all the while that the brisk air would help to clear my mind. I needed those small anchors to reality, that long moment's reflection to collect my thoughts and gather my courage - what little of it could be summoned presently, at any rate. There was little else that truly occupied my attention in the last week or so beyond what I'd just found out, and this night was absolutely the last one that I could still reasonably keep it all to myself. I would be meeting Erik across town very soon, would make good on my promise to see him for the holiday as we had planned. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have been so large a feat at all, but the circumstances had changed. Everything had changed now, and in ways that I was only beginning to see and understand.

It was all so...so very monumental, this still quite intangible yet unquestionable thing. Really, it had been from the moment I saw those two definitive little lines gradually appear on the otherwise innocuous piece of plastic. The pregnancy test was positive, as was the next one I took in the wake of my understandably abject disbelief. And one more to follow the first sets, for good measure, before I finally had no choice but to have the results confirmed by my doctor, a last-minute visit to a professional who could take that information and quantify it for me in a way that the home test kits simply couldn't.

Though if I stepped back and truly thought about it all, this pregnancy wasn't a surprise to me in the least; and really, nor was the news unwelcome. That much I could say without a single doubt, without having to second-guess the sensations I was quickly learning to associate with a baby I was only just beginning to know. It was _unexpected_ , certainly - but any newly emerging anxiety I felt was born of anticipation rather than dread, of the thrill of an unknown future rather than of any shred of regret. Because I could never bring myself to regret coming to know this revelation, nor the circumstances surrounding it. On the whole, I was happy about it. For the longest time, I had finally been so happy with every aspect of life. We both were.

It had been a year since the first time Erik Blanchard told me that he loved me, and so many times during that year had I fallen in love with him all over again. Whether we struggled to come into our own or knew absolute peace together, it was impossible not to feel that love deeply. Although our friendship had started off on rather unstable footing, and although he was by and large an exceedingly distant man to the rest of the world to begin with, he also carried himself with an unnamable grace that drew me into his presence from the start; and in that spirit, he unfailingly regarded me with respect and adoration that defined our every interaction throughout the months of our relationship. I could say with absolute certainty that I never knew love until we opened our hearts to one another, and with that knowledge, I wanted nothing else from life. We had each other, our livelihood within the city, and music in our veins, and that was all that mattered.

For the most part, we were the portrait of a normal couple - the only glaring difference from others in our position was Erik's congenital deformity, one that he felt the need to hide behind his starkly white mask at all times. Even in my now-familiar presence, it took him the better part of our first year together before he could feel comfortable enough to show his whole face in the privacy of our respective apartments. Otherwise, he never went without that barrier between his secret shame and the judging eyes of our peers. No matter how far society has claimed to progress, it was still an unusual addition to his facade - certainly an eccentricity - and while most in our profession considered that quality of him with polite indifference now, that hadn't always been the case. And moreover, there were still those occasions where he was regarded with forceful curiosity and outright scorn from strangers. It was only with time that even our colleagues at the Metropolitan Opera House grew familiar with Erik's mask and outward gruffness, and that familiarity was hard-won at best. But to the rest of the world, he was aloof, unusual, a man to be preyed upon before ultimately being discarded and avoided.

Yet for me, once the veil of his initial hesitance was lifted once and for all, he settled down considerably. In the end, he was the keeper of my heart, and I the keeper of his own - of his secrets, his dreams, and all that made him so intrinsically himself. Even so, there were many darker aspects of his mind, of his memories and experiences, and when combined they were more painful than I had first imagined. It came as no surprise that he had not led an easy life, no more than I had and for vastly different reasons. But in the time we had spent together, both shared and separate pain was slowly eased, if not erased entirely in some respects, each of us attempting to sooth the wounds of the past with the promise of a brighter future. It was all so assured, so carefully planned and cultivated; we held fast to those well-arranged and coveted ideals, like a talisman to fend off the sadness we'd both known for too long.

A pregnancy, however, had _never_ figured significantly into any of those plans. Not in any definitive sense. To Erik, the risk of passing on his deformity to an innocent child was too great, so much so that even the hint of that particular conversation always stalled before it ever truly developed. For my part, though the very concept was new, I was still sure that I was ready to become a mother; I was ready to have Erik Blanchard's baby and continue building a life in that capacity, hand-in-hand throughout our lives together. But whether or not Erik Blanchard himself was ready to become a father after so many insistences to the contrary, let alone any other concrete outcome of that significant change, remained to be seen. I knew him well enough to understand that the news would be exceedingly difficult for him to bear, and frankly, I didn't yet even know just how to break it to him anyway. All I knew was that I'd need to proceed delicately, to figure out a way to do so somehow with no experience to draw from whatsoever.

It was to my immense relief that he had been especially busy the week leading up to the holiday, and at any rate I was far too preoccupied with larger matters to worry over the days spent apart. We'd been through those occasions of separation before, when our careers demanded our undivided attention, and I had no reason to get myself worked up over being away from my boyfriend for any extended period. Rather, I whiled away my own time building the courage to say the words that would change our lives forever upon our reunion, to finally reveal the life-altering news that I had been harboring on my own since the first moments of its discovery. I hadn't known it myself for very long, but soon enough I was almost aching to share it with him, regardless of the outcome of his response. I wanted so badly to tell him, yet even so, I had to admit that I dreaded his reaction all the while. I was hesitant to admit as much aloud, but still I feared that he would run - from me, from his child, from everything we had worked so long to build. But I had to tell him; one way or another, he needed to know. He deserved to know, and I didn't want to be alone with it any longer.

So, when I couldn't find any more meaningless reasons to stall my departure from home, I held my head high with a particular fleeting confidence and made my way to his apartment, though as-yet quite unsure of just how to approach the subject. I hoped that whatever festivities he had in mind for our Christmas night together would buy me that much more time to plan the looming discussion - or, at the very least, how to actually broach it to begin with.

Erik smiled at me - such a bright and sincere expression - when he opened his front door some time later, and all at once I was able to forget any troubles I held onto for a brief and shining instant. Not long enough to forget entirely, of course, but just enough to become distracted from my nervousness. He was distracting, in a way that almost made me giddy. Yet in over a year together, I had never managed to fully convince him of the allure he held for me, both in his mind and body. He could persuade himself believe it to a degree, but I strongly sensed that he lived in a perpetual state of disbelief just the same, constantly wondering and worrying when it would all come crashing down around him. I would never bring that down upon our heads myself, but I knew well enough that he cherished every moment we spent together exactly for that reason. He had been hurt too many times before we met. It was immensely saddening to consider, but something I refused to dwell on for too long. Doing so would do no good for either of us - instead, I took it upon myself to continue to show him my dedication to this relationship in every way I knew how, and hope all the while that it would be enough for him.

Moments like this, when I saw him smile for me and only me, I could bring myself to believe that it was enough, that everything we shared would sustain us indefinitely, and I was swept away by him all over again. I could only distantly wonder if that singular sensation would ever end, if I would ever grow tired of what he inspired in me. I very sincerely doubted it, and I silently prayed that our new addition - our sudden and unexpected little family - would be so warmly welcomed into his heart just as I had been.

"I missed you, doll," Erik said, his voice and faint Parisian accent breaking me from my thoughts as he took both of my hands in his and led me into his apartment. He didn't decorate his home for Christmas, but I heard carols playing softly through his speakers, easily recognizing the songs arranged for the piano that provided a gentle sort of comfort that I sorely needed, and I smiled at his thoughtfulness. I knew he set that music up entirely for my benefit, even as he had no idea just how grand that benefit proved to be.

"I've missed you, too. It's been a long week," I replied, closing the front door behind me and immediately accepting his tight embrace. We stood together just inside the foyer, lingered in each other's arms for a time, simply coexisting in that fashion - entirely in ignorance for him, in barely-contained anxiety for myself.

 _He has to know, I have to tell him now_ , I determined resolutely, if not a bit suddenly, casting my former idea of buying time to the winds, _Putting it off longer helps no one._

"Later," he began when we parted, completely unaware of my internal conflict as he walked casually to the sofa, "I thought we could go out, drive around to see the lights. Would you want to go to Central Park like last year, or - "

" - Wait," I interrupted in a rush as we sat side-by-side, steeling myself before I had even the smallest chance of losing my nerve, "Before we make too many more plans for tonight, I need to talk to you first."

He regarded me more closely then, only just seeming to take clear notice of my obvious uneasiness. Furrowing his brow at the realization, he asked hesitantly, "What's wrong?"

"I...I actually don't know how to say this," I stammered, turning away quickly. It was more difficult than I had initially realized to find my voice, and too late I discovered that the words had frozen long before they came to life. Considering that, I wanted nothing more than to hide then.

But he caught my chin in his hand before I could escape his gaze entirely, gently urging me to look at him again as he asked slowly, "Should I be worried?"

"No. Or, I don't think you need to be…"

"What is it?"

"I'm…" I paused again, once more taking that small breath of time to gather my courage once and for all, "Erik, I'm pregnant."

The announcement was abrupt, a tangled mess, and most certainly not worded as eloquently as I would have preferred. It wasn't how I had envisioned having that sort of conversation when I was younger, when I was still naive enough to wholeheartedly believe that having a baby would be simple from the outset. But even so, all at once I realized that the brevity I had so inadvertently employed now could only help me at that point; drawing it all out for fear of disaster or trying to romanticize something still so tentative might only inspire the absolute least desired effect. I didn't want Erik to feel backed into a corner, and simplicity would likely give him the chance to rein in his reeling mind, at least somewhat. One of us had to keep a clear head, and in spite of my own worries, I knew that person had to be me this time.

He blinked, a flash of disbelief appearing in his eyes before quickly giving way to fear as he asked haltingly, "What...? You're what?"

"I'm pregnant. Look, I know this is - "

He stood before I could finish speaking, facing away from me and holding a hand to his mouth in his shock, as if just one sharply taken breath would shatter us both. Noting that near-panic in his every move, I didn't consider his interruption rude in the least, nor did I opt to reprimand him for it - rather, I simply waited for him to lower his hand slowly and turn to speak directly again, "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes."

"And you're going to keep it?"

I flinched at the implication - at the unspoken suggestion - but I answered regardless, even firmly, "Yes, I am."

He nodded, but made no further comment on that front. Instead, he was silent for a moment before asking, "How? How did this _happen_?"

"I don't need to tell you _how_ ," I said, reminding myself to remain calm even as a somewhat sardonic note tinted my response, "We've never been ones to exercise caution."

And that much was true - more than one occasion had rendered us lost in the thrill of our intimacy, nearly drowned in the excitement of a successful show at the Met, or perhaps by one too many drinks in celebration of our travels and whatever good fortune we chose to observe. The specifics didn't matter, not in the face of the grander picture. We had been mindful of employing various forms of protection when we thought to do so, but we were not at all above reproach. Far from it, really. Simply put, we'd grown careless as we shared our love, as we made love, and only now after so many previously favorable outcomes of that carelessness were we facing the repercussions of our decisions - or lack thereof, if I were to consider it all with very limited tact. I could almost bring myself to laugh at the idea.

Almost.

Erik, on the other hand, _did_ laugh - but the sound was sharp, almost shuddering, as he looked off to the side at nothing in particular and murmured, "Bloody fantastic."

"Come sit next to me," I said softly, trying to fully recapture and maintain my composure for both our sakes, hoping that the words sounded far less pleading than they seemed.

"No, I don't want to sit. I can't..." he shook his head, then met my eyes with a regret that was almost staggering, "I'm so sorry, Christine. We can't do this...I can't do this."

I sighed, a heavy, weary sound. There it was - everything that I'd dreaded came to life then. All the goodness that I had wanted to dream about with Erik was crashing down around me, destroyed before my eyes, before any of it ever even had a chance to come to become realities for us - for our baby. And for a moment, one frightening instant in the wake of his vague and horrible declaration, I sincerely wondered if he still might truly abandon this relationship altogether, if his words weren't simply the effects of a knee-jerk reaction to my pregnancy and nothing more substantial; fleeing wasn't outside the realm of reality, and I wondered, in spite of everything I believed for us even distantly, if our relationship actually wouldn't be able to outlast his initial shock and apparent denial after all. I couldn't bear the thought of his looming abandonment, it was just too painful to consider then. But still, I forced the idea away as quickly as it appeared; somehow, I knew all wasn't lost yet - not in the least, and not if I could help it. I just needed to be patient, I _had_ to remember that.

So I asked evenly, "What does that mean?"

And he surprised me in the very next breath as he said, so softly that I almost couldn't hear him, "I won't let my own child go through what I did. You _know_ I won't. And...I can't stand to lose you this way either, sweetheart."

"Our child won't have anything to worry about, Erik. And you're not losing me," I said, now thoroughly confused by his latest words. Nearly every scenario for this situation had passed my mind from the start, but this last statement had seemingly come from nowhere, and I was admittedly having trouble keeping up with the trajectory and logic of his thoughts then.

"Not _yet_ ," he insisted, "But if something goes wrong with the baby because of..." he gestured vaguely to his face, still unmasked and painted with a vulnerability I'd only witnessed a handful of times, before shaking his head again, slowly now, in an unconscious gesture of defeat, "A relationship can't withstand that. I know it can't, and that'll be the end."

Ah. That made more sense, at least superficially. And while his motivation for that specific vein of the discussion seemed selfish, I knew there was more to it than simply fearing a loss of companionship where I was concerned. I could see that much in his eyes, a keen and sorrowful guilt that had nothing to do with us - and everything to do with a strong and dark sense of responsibility for burdening our unborn child with its father's own shortcomings, physical or otherwise. Yet still, regardless of any real or imagined faults, I couldn't let Erik continue to believe that my role in this partnership could be so easily influenced - or even destroyed - by something well beyond either of our control, and so I sighed again, "Please don't say that."

"I have enough reason to. What if...it...looks like me? Then what?"

I couldn't answer immediately, though not for lack of the desire or sincere ability to cast aside his fears. Rather, I knew then that he wasn't simply asking after the implications to our own relationship, and my heart broke for him at his words.

He had told me, only once, and as achingly succinctly as he could manage, of what he went through in his childhood - of the hatred his parents had harbored for him. He had been such an unwilling participant in his own neglect, and its effects had stayed with him throughout his life. His parents had wanted the perfect child, had no way of predicting the irreparable malady of Erik's face, yet even so they blamed their only son for what they considered to be a shameful and undeserved burden on them. They kept him close to them, but they kept him hidden - they gave him the world in concept only, always from behind closed doors, his only sense of humanity brought to him through books and music, but virtually no contact with the outside. Erik's parents had been present, but only in the most basic sense - they kept him alive so long as they were obligated to keep him under their roof, but the time before his emancipation was spent living with a hateful distance that slowly destroyed their small family from within. In nearly every sense of the term, they had abandoned him, and by the time he was able to live on his own, the damage had long since had the opportunity to suffocate a part of him that never recovered; by the time he left, it was too late.

And he thought that I could do the same to our own child as his parents had done to him, should the infant suffer the same birth defect. A part of me very nearly wanted to be insulted that he could even come to that conclusion in the first place - but a larger part understood that he never meant to convey his fear in order to hurt me. It was never about me, in that sense; his trauma simply ran too deeply in him and for too long to be denied - I knew that much from every previous and refused conversation on the matter - and it wouldn't be so easily banished. Not without some convincing on my part. I needed him to see that I was different, and I needed to do so as soon as I could possibly accomplish. Whether he knew it or not, our family depended on my success in reaching him. I certainly couldn't right the wrongs of the past entirely, but I would be damned if I allowed history to repeat itself for my baby, no matter what happened to it in the months before we would finally meet face-to-face. No matter what, my child would be loved.

With that in mind, I pulled Erik to sit beside me, refusing to be denied this time as I said with gentle resolve, "Nothing, _nothing_ could make me abandon my baby."

"You don't know that," he said as he settled down next to me, seeming all the while prepared to dash away again at the slightest provocation even as he held fast to my hands, "You can't guarantee you'll keep that promise if it looks like me."

"I will, Erik. And I need you to _trust_ that I will."

"I don't know _how_ to trust that. I don't..." he said, voice slightly raised and almost begging, desperate for a reassurance that he didn't quite know how to ask for.

But finally, _finally_ , I knew how to give it to him all the same, "Listen to me, baby. I love you, more than I can even say. And I already love this baby more than I thought I could love another person. You have to know that," I said, offering a soft, genuine smile, "And it's ours, and I don't care what happens as long as it's safe, as long as you and I are together to give this child the life it deserves. That's all. I'm not going to run. And," I added, "I expect the same from you."

He smiled at that, a small half-smile that lasted only a heartbeat before looked at me directly again, now with tears in his eyes, born of both his fear and his affection. And he held my gaze for an immeasurable instant, seemingly considering his next movement before finally placing one of his hands on my stomach. And he did so gently, as if it wasn't too early to feel anything yet and saying, almost breathlessly, "This is real."

"It is," I confirmed confidently.

"I'm...so absolutely terrified."

"So am I. That's normal, though. I promise."

He breathed a laugh in reply, but said more seriously when he spoke again, "Christine, this is...You're giving me a family."

"I know, sweetheart."

"You have no idea what that means to me."

"I think I can guess. I was alone before we met, almost entirely," I said solemnly, recalling all the years spent in an unwilling and desolate solitude - there were so many empty years between losing my father and meeting Erik, and I would just as soon forget how draining they were in mind, body, and soul. It was almost indescribable, and it didn't seem so long ago at all that I had resolved to observe the holidays alone - only to eventually and unexpectedly have Erik by my side to change that stance steadily over time. He was the only bit of brightness in the otherwise bleak expanse of time passed; but even so, it hurt to bring forth so many images of my life before the last year, and I heard my voice crack with that pain as I continued, "I remember what it feels like to be without anyone else, any family."

"Never again," he said firmly - and it was uttered almost as a prayer, a vow, more significant than anything else that could be spoken in those moments, "I won't let you be alone again. Never again."

"Then promise me you'll stay," I pressed, "I want you to know this baby, Erik."

He took a deep breath - a last and irrefutable consideration - as he paused and finally seemed to summon his own courage before responding tremulously, "I promise."

And all at once, he kissed me then - a deep and slow gesture that took my breath away as much as it gave me strength - before I could say anything further, before I could bring myself to shatter the moment with what would ultimately be empty words. Because nothing I said myself could suffice, not yet. Nothing else beyond our embrace mattered - alongside one another, with the new life below my heart that we had created together, we would never be alone again. As far as we were concerned, no gift on Earth compared to that truth.

"Merry Christmas, love," he whispered when we parted, staying close just the same and touching his forehead to mine as he added almost forcefully, "Thank you so much, Christine."


End file.
